There’s a surprisingly strict â even by post-9/11 NYC standards â restriction on bringing even a handbag into the Peggy Guggenheim museum, but our little Rafe wristlet passes muster and garners compliments from the multilingual museum gals.

We choose to take the compliment without revealing that the wristlet was just $19.99 at Target.

Out on Peggy G’s terrace overlooking the Grand Canal, we get hit for the first time with how beautiful the light is in Venice. It’s hazy, so everything looks as though it’s been shot with the same soft-focus, Vaseline-smeared lens Barbara Walters is always seen through.

But even more than that, the light has a tinge, the way a pink light bulb in your grandma’s bathroom might cast a flattering tinge. The tinge is a kind of pink-yellow-orange, a coral color, even. And it makes everyone look healthy and lively.

We walk across the Ponte Rialto and we’re hating the schlock. We need to find a place to eat before 2 p.m. hits and all the restaurants close for the afternoon. We turn down an alley that looks like it will end at the canal, but instead opens up onto a lovely campo where we find Naranzaria.

The waiter tells us service will be delayed, and in fact, it takes almost an hour for our main course to come but that’s probably because the kitchen doesn’t even start braising our lamb shank until after we order it. Because this place is so close to Rialto, we expect that it will kind of suck, so we order a meat and cheese platter to start, as insurance. We also see some people eating sushi, but that doese not seem like good insurance, so we do not order any.

There are no pastas on the menu; instead the place seems to specialize in polentas, so we go for the aforementioned lamb shank (stinco di agnello, which, we bet, many Americans can’t say without giggling) and a fresh-tuna stew with tomatoes, capers and olives, both over polenta. Everything is better than we could’ve hoped.

The lamb is a gorgeous braise, full of flavor with meat sliding off the bone. A shaggy black dog whose crusty teen owners are spare-changing over on Rialto takes a significant interest in the lamb, circling our table and nuzzling our elbows, vying for a bite.

The tuna stew is a bit of a gamble. It might’ve been bland, as cooked fresh tuna often is; we luck out. The tuna is chunky and flaky, well seasoned, and married wonderfully with the salty, unctuous red mush of tomatoes, capers and olives. Plus, that sauce dresses up the polenta with its oily goodness. It is hearty, and it warms us against the cold wind that blows off the canal every time the sun disappeared behind a cloud.

Our table is about 10 feet from the edge of the canal, and we watch gondoliers navigate through the waters, as a pack of nuns stop to take their picture, while Asian tourists take pictures of the nuns.

Six hours later, after navigating dozens of cobblestone streets and looking at dozens of menus, we finally decide on dinner. It’s back to Antico Capon for more of the crab pasta that rocked our mouths yesterday. The spicy prawn pasta and roast veal we have are quite tasty too, but the crab was better.